


Mary Had a Little Lamb

by lavvyan



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes rejects Watson. Mary takes offence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary Had a Little Lamb

Like so many other women of her time, Mary had been brought up to be a man's perfect wife. She had been taught to cook, to sew and to keep a household, but as it had been determined that _every_ man needed a wife if he so chose and that some men were of a more adventurous sort than others, she had also learned how to bribe, cheat, and most importantly, use her mind for more than empty-headed conversation.

In short, Mary grew up to be a quick-witted, independent woman, who nevertheless longed for a partner to whose happiness she could dedicate herself. A partner she found, eventually, in one Dr. John Hamish Watson.

John was the man she had been waiting for all her life. He was kind, intelligent and caring, and self-assured enough that he appreciated a woman who would be his equal instead of an accessory. He loved her sweetly and honestly, and she wanted nothing more in the world than to make him happy.

"Go to him," she said, well-aware that she was not the only one to hold his heart, but far from minding him his earnest devotion. "Go," she said again, sending him away with a kiss and a laugh, "I'm a grown woman. I have learned how to share."

And he squeezed her hand, grateful and proud, and went to tell his other love how he felt. Mary watched him leave with a full heart and a smile still lingering on her lips, glad that she could grant her husband this additional happiness.

Alas, it was not happiness he found in Baker Street. When he returned that same evening, long before he had expected him back and reeking of smoke and alcohol, he stumbled into her arms, his face not near expressionless enough to mask his pain.

"He asked me," he slurred, and she held him tight in fear of the words to follow, "if my wife was aware of my being an invert."

"Oh, John," she breathed, her heart going out to him. She held him for as long as he needed it, and then made him partake in a light supper and put him to bed. His eyes were dark with shame as he turned his head on the pillow and looked at her.

"Do you find me appalling?"

"Never," she promised, her voice catching in her throat. She must not cry, she told herself. One of them must be strong; tonight, it would not be him. He fell asleep with her hand in his, and she kissed his fingers before she pulled hers away and rose to her feet.

From her earliest childhood, Mary had been brought up for one purpose and one alone: to be the perfect wife. And the perfect wife, she knew, would take responsibility for her husband's happiness if he could not do so himself.

The attic of the house at Cavendish Place was small and rather draughty, but she had kept it clean. Besides, she did not need much space. A single lamp shed enough light to see by as she drew the pentalpha with a piece of chalk she had taken from Mr. Holmes's mantelpiece. The rest of her offerings had been gathered with the help of Mrs. Hudson, who still remembered her own marriage with some fondness. Mary allowed herself a brief smile and went to work.

On the lower left point of the star, she placed a lock of Mr. Holmes's dark hair to stand in for his head and thereby his mind. He would perhaps not be quite so adroit when she was done, but some sacrifices had to be made and she could not pretend to regret this one. The lower right point of the star she covered with a brown-stained bandage, letting his blood stand in for his body. The two middle points bore a gold sovereign Mr. Holmes had once received as a token from Ms. Adler and a piece from one of Mr. Holmes's shirts - his heart and his earthly belongings, respectively. Finally, she placed a dark splinter of wood on the topmost point of the star. A piece of shrapnel, which she herself had pulled from her husband's shoulder, to symbolise his courage, his devotion, his love.

Straightening, Mary pulled a small knife from the folds of her dress and sliced the sharp blade across her right palm. Blood welled up immediately, and she clenched her hand into a fist, waiting for her fingers to start dripping. Others would be murmuring in Greek or Latin by now, but not her. A binding like this needed no fancy words, only a strong will. And Mary's will was like a diamond, cutting through anything that would crush it.

She pressed her wet hand into the centre of the pentalpha, eyes unfocussed as the blood soaked into the wood beneath. She raised her hand, squeezed it tight, and used the fresh blood to paint along the lines of the five-pointed star, glistening red smearing the dusty white of the chalk. _Bound,_ she thought, tracing down from her husband's life to Mr. Holmes's body, Mr. Holmes's heart, Mr. Holmes's earthly belongings, Mr. Holmes's mind, and back to her husband. _Bound by will and bound by blood and bound by time and Earth and dust._ Something rushed through her, dark and warm and alive, like a blood-stained shadow filled with teeth, making her gasp as she closed the circle. Her palm stung but she paid it no heed, sinking back as she grinned with wild elation at the bare wooden beams over her head and the night beyond.

Soon, Mr. Holmes would come and climb into her husband's bed, giving over everything he was, everything he might have been, to become instead what Mary would let him be – a gift of love that would last unto their deaths. And she would watch, and smile, and share her husband's happiness, for that was what a good wife would do.

And she was a perfect wife, after all.

~~~

 _"Why does the lamb love Mary so?"  
the eager children cried.  
"Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,"  
the teacher did reply._


End file.
